In the Shadows of the Moroi Court
by Samwysesr
Summary: Collection of stories that revolve around 'The Mask I Wear' and 'Letting Go'. The length of each piece will vary and so will the character narrating. Rating it 't' but that might change for later chapters. Some will be drabbles and other will be one or more shots.
1. Chapter 1: Tatiana—the Meeting

She was thinking about the past when it happened; lost in memories of the first ball that she'd attended after her own inauguration. All the preparations for Vasilisa's party had left her melancholic, pining for her youth. She wanted to live again… to be young and vibrant. To fall in love and relive those wondrous moments of when it was new and amazing, experiencing emotions so strong that they stole your breath away.

There was a muffled sound of pain behind her, but why should she bother to look? Whatever it was, it didn't concern her in the slightest. Still, she was bored; her curiosity got the better of her. Turning her head, she eyed the young girl who stood on the threshold of all that was left of her domain. The little idiot was tangled in the hedge—it was what she deserved for poking around in places that didn't concern her. The girl yanked her hair free, eyes darting around the garden; of course they passed right over her—she was used to being unseen. She watched with narrowed eyes as the dhampir came closer, wondering who she was and why she had come.

_Then the impudent creature had the colossal nerve to sit right down beside her!_

Huffing with irritation, she jumped to her feet, moving away to settle herself on the large marble base of her statue; it was quite uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't crowded. Her anger at the intruder grew stronger with each second that passed.

_How dare she take off her shoes and socks in the presence of a queen! Of all the inexcusable rude—and now she's sleeping…in my garden!_

Tatiana had no way of judging how much time slipped by; even if she'd had a watch, she was too busy blustering over the presumptuousness of the dhampir. Calling her everything from a street urchin to a hobo, she paced the area between the bench and the statue, scowling all the while.

_Ah—now she's awake. Good. Leave! Immediately!_

Of course… she didn't. Instead, the young girl's eyes wandered from one flower bed to the next, her lips turned up in a strange, pleased little smile—and then she turned to the statue, unaware that the ghost of the woman it represented was mere inches away, glaring pointedly at her bare feet.

_Were you raised in a barn? No—probably in a blood whore commune. No wonder you—_

"They're too small—they pinch my feet terribly," the girl whispered, her eyes dropping down to the ground; a moment later, she blushed, then laughed—but her words had silenced the Queen, who was staring at her, stunned.

_Can you hear me? No… of course not. But… how did you know what I was saying?_

"I hope you don't mind if I share your garden for a while... I needed a place to put my thoughts in order... away from my family." The girl stood, moving towards the statue, bending to read the inscription at the base, her long fingers trailing over the raised letters.

Tatiana watched, eyes narrowed as the girl reached down and removed the flowers that Adrian had left several weeks ago; every day he noticed them and promised to bring more—but the poor boy had so much on his mind, his forgetting was understandable.

"I think perhaps these should be replaced, don't you agree your Majesty? It would never do to have your nephew come to visit and find that people aren't taking care of your monument properly."

_Why do you care girl? Don't you detest me like the rest of your kind do? Think I was out to kill all the novices, sending them into battle before they'd reached their prime? I wasn't… I had a plan. Not that I had the chance to see it through—Natasha Ozera murdered me before I could set it in motion._

The dhampir's eyes turned to the flowers; Tatiana winced when she realized where she was looking.

_Not the lilies—those were my grandmother's favorite. Don't touch them—they honor her memory…that's why I always kept them around the palace. _

Almost as if she read her mind—which was quite impossible—the girls hand stretched out, not towards the lilies but to Adrian's roses… with their enormous thorns.

_I really don't need flowers, child. Just… go before you—oh…my. Too late. I did try to warn you._

The girl let out a mumbled curse, jerking her hand back as the stem pierced her skin. "Okay... no roses either."

_Either… what do you mean by either? You couldn't have heard me—you're not shadow kissed, I can tell. Can you… sense me? Are you… like Rhonda?_

No response. was really getting quite tiring—why did she even bother trying?

Watching the girl stare at the sunflowers, the queen found herself wondering if the Academies still bothered with the classics; had the dhampir read 'The Metamorphosoes' by Ovid? Did she know the story of Helios and Clytia and how the poor nymph withered away, suffering from unrequited love—becoming the world's very first sunflower in the process? It was one of her favorite tales—and the reason she'd always loved the plant; they reminded her of the first man she'd fallen in love with and how she had basked in his smiles—growing cold as her hopes and dreams withered away when he had turned the warmth of those smiles on a younger, prettier someone else.

_But for a quirk of fate and a fickle man's heart, Janine Hathaway's daughter might have been mine. Yes… that is the root of my intense dislike for Rosemarie—the way she'd treated Adrian was just the icing on the cake. _

The dhampir before her was different than Rosemarie; more humble and not as crass. Even now, as she arranged the flowers she'd gathered in a lovely, simple arrangement, she berated her skills instead of boasting. No, this girl would not crow proudly over her triumphs—she would celebrate them privately, with grace and humility.

"I am sorry it's not very pretty your Majesty—but it is better than nothing, I think. Besides, I am sure when your nephew comes he will replace them with something far nicer anyway."

_It's perfectly fine—quite nice. Thank you for—_

"Ahhh—there now, do you see what happens when I leave you to your own devices? You start talking to yourself out of loneliness."

A voice spoke from behind them, spinning the ghost around; it was him— the one who had played a part in breaking her nephews heart. But… how did he know the girl beside her? Turning, she examined the young dhampir, trying not to smile at the charming blush of embarrassment that flared up in her cheeks.

"For your information, I happen to be talking to the Queen."

_Yes—and we were having quite a nice time. So go away Belikov. Patrol the wards or polish your stake or—_

"Impossible, kotyonok—I know she has good hearing, but she is all the way at the spa with Mama and Roza, waiting for me to come fetch you."

_Kitten…an endearment. What an interesting development—was the Guardian betraying Rosemarie the same way she'd betrayed Adrian? No… that couldn't be. Not if they were meeting up with his mother and the she devil... Belikov wasn't the type to flaunt his mistress in front of his lover—that was more Nathan's style._

"Now you are just being silly Dimka. I didn't mean Lissa at all—I meant Queen Tatiana. She is a very good listener—the kind that doesn't have much to say."

_Oh I have plenty to say, child. Unfortunately, no one can hear me._

The Guardian approached, his eyes lingering for a moment on the roses that were so abundant, then he turned to her statue; his jaw tensed as he read the dedication.

_That's right—this is my place. The Aunt of the man you helped to ruin. I don't suppose you've bothered to tell your little friend what you did, have you Beikov? _

"Be that as it may—we have to go. Unless you don't want to join the others in primping for tomorrow night?" He grabbed the girl's elbow, tugging her to her feet.

_Excuse me! Be more gentle! She's a girl, not one of your training dummies!_

"But you said I had an hour! It hasn't been nearly that long!" Her lower lip slid out in a sulk, making the ghost chuckle softly.

_It has... but somehow it doesn't seem long enough. I don't want to be alone again... not yet, anyway._

"You're quite right—it's been almost two. I gave you a little extra time so you wouldn't have to hear Roza and Lissa bickering back and forth about what beauty treatments everyone should get. Now put on your boots and stop pouting—you know that I can't bear seeing you look unhappy."

Seeing them side by side, she realized her error; not secret lovers, but siblings, the older brother come to round up his wayward sister. Tatiana watched as the girl reclaimed her boots, frowning at the expression of pain that crossed her pretty face; could they not afford to buy her shoes that fit? It seemed a shame she should suffer. As the young dhampir followed after her brother, she felt completely torn; she should be glad the thoughtless creature was leaving, shouldn't she? Yes. She should.

_That's right. Go on... leave. You don't belong here—your family has caused Adrian a lifetime of agony. I shouldn't have even paid any attention to you at all._

But then… the girl paused, glancing back at the statue; she turned back, gathering up the dead flowers that were scattered across the grass, then stared up at the statue, unaware that the Queen's ghost was only a few inches away, watching as she bowed, listening to her soft whisper.

"Thank you for letting me share your special place today, your Majesty. It was an honor to tend to your monument. I hope your nephew brings you some nicer flowers soon."

Tatiana's emotions were turbulent and confusing; the girl was a Belikov—and a dhampir, but she was such a respectful, humble child. She was almost sad to see her leave—but she shouldn't be... not at all. She followed the girl slowly, trying to puzzle out her feelings, unaware that she was actually leaving the sanctuary of her garden for the first time in months. She was so wrapped up in the conversation the siblings were having she barely even noticed her surroundings—huffing in irritation at the comment Belikov made when he praised his sister for her actions.

"That was very nice of you Vika."

_More a matter of having manners than being 'nice', you big oaf. But since you're in love with that Hathaway tramp, I don't suppose you think manners are important—she certainly doesn't have any to speak of, does she? Oh. Her name is Vika. Vika Belikov... no, I suppose it would be Belikova, wouldn't it? I wonder... is it Viktoria? That's quite a lovely name._

"About that garden... It is relatively new. I was unaware it was a private one. I think perhaps it would be best if you did not visit it again."

_Oh I'm sure you do feel that way...you don't want her running into my Adrian and finding out what you did to him, do you? It might make your little sister see you in quite a different light._

"I did no harm, Dimka—I only sat and enjoyed the quiet. Besides, you must be mistaken...for a rose to have thorns so large they must be several years old." The girl—Vika—held out her hand, showing off an ugly red puncture. Tatiana winced at the sight; perhaps Adrian had slightly overdone things with the giant thorns.

"Unless someone specifically made them grow that way." Belikov reverted to Russian, making the ghost roll her eyes. Did he not think his sister—who had a noticeable Russian accent—could understand her native tongue. Men... what fools they were.

"Spirit? Did Lissa make them grow? Is that what has you acting like a worry wart—thinking about Roza finding out Lissa has been using Spirit when she isn't supposed to?"

_Smart girl... too bad you're on the complete wrong track with Vasilisa. There's another Spirit user at Court, my dear—one that is devastatingly handsome and funny... not to mention the most charming boy to ever walk the earth. Have you not seen him yet? No... I suppose they'd keep someone as attractive you hidden away from him, wouldn't they?_

"What do you know about that?" The man looked stunned—did he think his sister was a halfwit?

"I know Spirit can help plants and flowers—sometimes when a plant in Mark's garden is dying, Oksa practices on it. She's been trying different things—researching old tales. I think she knows how worried Roza is about Lissa now that their bond is gone... she's trying to find something that might help. I know Lissa gets a little... unhinged. She did yesterday when we were shopping and I saw it with my own two eyes."

The ghost stumbled, frowning. How long had it been since she visited Vasilisa? The young queen had been fine the last time she'd seen her, taking to her new title the way a duck took to water. Surely... Vasilisa couldn't be breaking already?

_Oh dear God... she can't be losing her mind? Our people need her! She is going to change things for the better—that's why I chose her... because she cares about them all—Moroi and dhampir alike!_

"Be that as it may, I don't want you returning there. It is a place for the family to mourn in private. Do you understand?" The Guardian gave his sister a stern, determined look that made a knot of fear clench Tatiana's stomach. He couldn't order her about like he was her father... she wouldn't listen... would she?

_Don't you dare forbid her... she... amuses me. Don't stop her Belikov. Don't. You. Dare._

"Yes... I understand."

_No! You must come back! You're welcome there—anytime. Please... don't leave me all alone again... I can't bear it. It's driving me mad, child!_

The former queen moved in front of them, facing the girl and focusing her will, desperate to reach her—then she saw the secretive glint in her dark brown eyes, and instantly relaxed. She had nothing to fear—the girl would be back; she had felt the alluring magic of the little garden Adrian had created out of love and adoration—and she wouldn't be able to resist it's pull.

The dhampirs lapsed into silence, but still, she followed—though she couldn't understand why; the girl was like a magnet, drawing her attention—but her steps faltered when they reached the spa. As Belikov escorted his sister inside, Tatiana hovered in the doorway; she was torn, but she couldn't bring herself to enter.

_He's in there... dear, sweet Ambrose. I can't bear facing him again... not yet._

Sinking down on a nearby bench, she tilted her head back, counting the stars and naming the constellations; she hoped the girl would hurry and reappear before the wretched boredom reared its ugly head. When she felt it prickling, the urge to go inside almost overwhelmed her, but instead, she circled the building, passing through the enormous hedge that encircled the small, private terrace where the spa's patrons often retired for a glass of wine or cup of tea. Eyeing the women present, she drifted towards the table where Evette Ozera sat holding court with a mud pack treatment on her face. There were several other women with her—one being that horrid Marcella Badica who was always trying to wiggle her way up the social ladder by claiming to be kin. Sinking down in a free chair, she glared at the cups in their hands; she would give anything to have some chamomile tea. It was something she'd always adored—tea with a drop of whiskey... the perfect way to calm her nerves at the end of a trying day.

"I'm telling you—that girl will be trouble, you mark my words!" Marcella shifted in her chair, clearly agitated as she adjusted the thick folds of the plush robe she was wearing. "First she tried to sit down beside me, then she threatens the council! Honestly!"

_What! Who would dare—_

"She didn't know about the seating... she's a visitor, for God's sake, Marcy. And it wasn't a threat. Do you think Guardian Belikov would have brought her to Court if she was the type to cause trouble?" Evette sipped her tea; grimacing, she set it down, adding two more cubes of sugar. "I think the girl is a seer. Guardian Anosov told me she collapsed in the corridor as soon as she left the council chambers. I remember Rhonda doing that once when we were in school. We'd been playing with a Ouija board and it overloaded her… second sight… or whatever the hell it's called. I think Viktoria saw something… that's what caused her outburst… and I'm going to find out exactly what she saw."

Tatiana leaned forward in her chair, instantly alert. They were talking about _her _dhampir—she'd been right. There was something different about the girl… but why had she been to a council meeting? And what was the threat she'd made?

"Well then—you can't seriously be entertaining the thought of putting in a bid for her to guard Clarissa. Imagine if she had a vision in the middle of a fight?" Katherine Conta stood up, preparing to go back inside.

"I already decided she's not going to be for Clarissa—I want her for myself. I have other Guardians to protect me… but a seer? Those are hard to find. With Vasilisa starting to slip… I want to be prepared for anything. Viktoria Belikova can help me with that… and she'll be an even bigger help when I become Queen."

_You? Queen? Using that sweet girl as a tool? I think not! Over my dead— oh. Well… regardless. It's not going to happen._

"You heard what she said in there… she won't accept a charge."

"I'm willing to bet if it means more rights for her people, she'll do it." Evette leaned back in her chair, smiling smugly, "I can make empty promises and then blame the other Royals for being slow to act on the changes... and even if she outright refuses… there are ways to force her to comply. After all… there are twelve of us on the council, and I can always change my vote to side against Vasilisa on every dhampir related proposal she brings up. Right now the council is evenly split… my vote will make a difference. All I have to do is mention that to the Guardian council and they'll _make_ her serve."

_Oh you horrible, horrible bitch. We do not force them to serve—if we did it could cause a revolution. You moronic, conceited woman!_

Her eyes darted from one woman to the next, disgust filling her as she realized they all approved of the wretched, despicable scheme. Didn't they realize that if they forced dhampir women into service, the men would protest? They did their duty so their mothers and sisters wouldn't have to, wanting to keep them safe and out of harm's way, These idiotic fools were going to ruin everything she'd spent her life achieving, shattering the harmony she had tried so hard to preserve.

"Princess Ozera? I'm ready for you now." There he stood, practically beside her—the one person she had been determined not to see. His voice hit her like a slap, misery welling up and eating away at her insides. Even here, working, he looked so…sad. She could tell the happy, carefree tone he was using was forced—his haunted eyes betrayed him.

"I'll be there in a moment Ambrose, thank you. Just let me finish my tea first." Evette watched him walk back inside, turning to smile at her friends. "Perhaps I'll start dropping hints to Novice Belikova today. Maybe I can convince Ambrose to sit her next to me."

Marcella made a sound of disgust. "She's _here _? As a _client? _What in the… I am so tired of dhampirs invading everything around here. They used to know their place, but now it seems like there's nowhere we can escape them."

"Vasilisa invited her… the Hathaway girl is here too, along with two older dhampirs. So watch what you say when you go inside—don't let your big mouth get you in trouble."

"I heard that Rosemarie practically attacked her after the session. Stacy saw them at the Café—she said Rose jerked her out of line and started screaming in her face about how she acted towards the Council." Aria Zeklos leaned forward, her voice an excited whisper. "Apparently the Belikova girl wasn't taking it though—she yelled right back. Guardian Belikov had to break it up. Stacy said she thought they were going to start beating the hell out of each other."

"Stacy talks too much." Evette stood up, tightening the belt on her robe. "Charles was there—he said Hathaway was teaching her about respect. Commendable, if it were true, but I can't see that girl taking up for the Royals—unless Vasilisa is involved."

Tatiana sneered; as if Hathaway were fit to lecture anyone on how to behave in public. The tramp had spewed out profanities at _her_ in front of half the Court. Her fondness for the Belikov girl grew as she pictured her standing up to Rosemarie; apparently she hadn't let the bitch bully her—and she hadn't backed down… both very admirable things.

As the women dispersed, she sighed, returning to her bench near the front door; she thought about just going inside—after all, she'd already seen Ambrose and was aching from the encounter. Half a dozen times she stood, approaching the building—only to retreat back to her shadowy bench, trembling at the thought of being around Ambrose for an extended period of time. Thankfully, her dhampir saved her from exposing herself to seeing him again; she walked out the door before Tatiana had the chance to make up her mind. The ghost stood, moving closer, eyeing what had changed since she'd went inside. The girl's hair was sleek and shining, catching the glow of the streetlight as she moved; it was really quite flattering—a lovely brown shade that was warm and rich, matching the color of her large, sparkling eyes.

_And she replaced those wretched boots. Thank God. Maybe now she won't walk around barefoot._

She watched as the girl and the she-devil waited for the rest of their party; first Vasilisa appeared, chatting with an older dhampir woman, followed by an aged crone… that stared straight at her with dark, knowing eyes that looked slightly dazed.

_Good God! Another one!_

Hesitantly, she nodded her head, not daring to let the hope she felt gathering inside her free; it was an idiotic gesture, one that made her feel foolish—but then… _the woman nodded back. _Their gazes locked for a moment, but the dhampir's eyes went unfocused. The woman staggered, leaning against the wall, letting out a soft moan.

"Yeva… you ok?" Rosemarie dropped back, her hand moving to the woman's elbow.

"I'll be fine Roza… I just need a minute. Sometimes I see… things I am not meant to see." It was a tired whisper, filling the ghost with guilt. She wanted to be seen, but not if it meant killing the woman in the process.

"Oh God. Here we go. What was it this time? Let me guess… I'm gonna have triplets? Quintuplets?"

_Still no respect. She would never change._

"A great woman cut down in her prime. That is what I saw. The vision has faded." The elderly woman took hold of Rosemarie's arm, her expression troubled and weary. "There are restless spirits here… you are lucky you can't see them anymore."

"I didn't know _you_ could see them at all. Why didn't you mention it before?"

"And have you question me incessantly? Why would I?"

Tatiana chuckled, amused by the woman's abruptness. She walked beside the crone, but did not try to reach her; she'd save that for the young one, not wanting to risk harming the old woman further.

It wasn't a surprise that Vasilisa had housed them lavishly; the girl was very forward thinking when it came to such things. For a moment, she was torn—tempted to follow the old woman who had seen her, but she finally decided to stick with her dhampir, following the girl into her apartment and settling herself on the couch.

_This is quite nice. I had no idea the rooms were so quaint. _

The girl—_Viktoria, _she reminded herself—was in a tizzy, pacing the floor and huffing about some dress that she was missing. After a few moments, she disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a book and plopping down in a chair, finally beginning to write. Eyeing her frantic scribbling, Tatiana was tempted to move, to see what was so fascinating that she filled page after page—but realizing it must be a diary, she refrained herself. Some things were private, after all. Viktoria wrote and she wrote until they came to take her to dinner; Tatiana didn't follow, she was content to stay and wait. Now that she knew the Belikov women could glimpse the unseen, she wasn't about to abandon them. The old one had seen her… and the younger one sensed her… so perhaps in time, she would find a way. She _had _ to believe it was possible, unwilling to accept the misery of being alone and unnoticed forever.

Eventually, the dhampir returned, going straight into the bedroom and preparing herself for sleep; Tatiana was prepared to spend the night waiting, but she realized something that had escaped her notice in the excitement of the day—Adrian hadn't made an appearance… unless he'd gone to the garden when she'd been wandering. She moved to the door, prepared to hunt him down—just to reassure herself that he was alright—but a sound from the bedroom stopped her in her tracks; a soft, sad whisper that was almost heartbreaking.

"Happy birthday Vika."

_What? But… why is she sad? Did they not celebrate? Surely they got a cake and cards and all the tiny tokens she had always made sure Adrian always had on his special day… that was what you did for the ones you loved… wasn't it? One year she even got him an elephant and threw a circus themed party! Did they… not remember? They didn't remember! Not one of them—not even her mother? It was unthinkable to forget such an important thing! No wonder she's crying—what wretched, wretched people!_

The ghost moved into the darkened room, sinking down on the edge of the bed; she watched the girl cry, trying to ignore the way it tugged at her heart. When Viktoria finally drifted off to sleep, Tatiana Ivashkov leaned forward, gently stroking her translucent hand across the soft waves of the girl's long brown hair, wishing she could comfort her in some small way.

_Happy birthday child. May you have many more… and may they be happy ones._

She left, promising herself that she would return in the morning and do her best to make herself known in any way she could. It wasn't until she reached Adrian's apartment and found him slumped over, asleep in his favorite chair—with an empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand—that she realized something she had missed; it was something so enormous that it buckled her knees, making her sink down on the floor beside him.

She had actually been able to feel the dhampir's hair… soft and silky beneath her ghostly palm.

_But… HOW?_


	2. Chapter 2: Yeva—the Prediction

There are many things I know that most forget or deem unimportant; this is not bragging—it is just simple truth. When we cease to remember the past, our future will be doomed—it is a lesson my grandmother taught me, passed down from her own grandmother; it is one I will teach my kotyonok one day soon—when I feel she is ready to learn it.

There are books filled with our secrets, hidden away, though I know not where; perhaps my old friend took them with her, removing them from court when she vanished. Many would seek to destroy the tomes if they knew what the pages held; it is why Ekatarina spent her lifetime collecting them—an attempt to keep them safe. She knew the importance of merging the past and the present—it is the only thing that will save us on the day the prophecies begin to come true.

All that remains of the tales of old are the things I remember, locked inside my head—the day when I take my last breath, they will vanish, so soon… I must pass them on. Already I struggle to hold on to their fragments, forgetting much of what I memorized so long ago—when I was just a girl. Remembering so much… it is tiring, but it is the last duty my Queen gave me. It is one I will fulfill at all costs, even if I must fight against the blight of age with all my strength.

I only pray that I can remember the story of how to reverse the madness in time to save our young Dragoness from what her future will bring. I saw it today, when I gazed upon her in the shop—a circle of black fire, slowly sinking into her skin. She is strong… but is she strong enough to defeat it? I already know the answer… and soon enough... the others will too.

God help us all.

—Y.B.


	3. Chapter 3: Chimera—Adrian

He excelled at many, many things; it was common knowledge, so there was no point in false modesty when it was obviously true—why feign it? If you wanted a fun time, he was the life of the party. Need a little political schmoozing? He could bullshit with the best of them. He could even make the best dirty martini you'd ever tasted—one that would leave you craving ten more.

_But waiting? That was a completely different story._

Sure, he'd spent months waiting for the she demon to see the light—but there'd been a steady supply of whiskey to see him through it; there was also the whole exciting aspect of the chase. Waiting like that, where there's a constant anticipation of reward at the end of it—that's a completely different game entirely.

_But this kind of waiting? It was pure hell on earth._

He knew he probably should have listened to what she'd said; she'd flat out stated that she didn't want to hear about it—but he had to get it out. The memory of her grandmother's flashing dark eyes as she'd spouted prediction like the voice of doom made it impossible to do anything less than disclose the full, ugly truth; for a moment, when the old woman was staring into his eyes… it had felt like she was actually _ inside_ his head. He could practically feel her thoughts speaking directly to him—warning him about a loss that would be so crippling it would make what he went through with Rose seem like a walk in the park.

_Or maybe his special brand of cuckoo was working overtime._

Viktoria hadn't been gone twenty minutes, but already… he was _missing _ her. Truth be told, it started the minute she walked out the door. As soon as it shut behind her, he'd felt an ache in the center of his body; it was a dull throbbing in his chest, like a heartbeat, that refused to go away.

_And it completely terrified him._

He shouldn't feel so attached to the dhampir—after all… he still loved Rose. So why in the hell did Viktoria's absence eat at him like acid? He felt like he'd lost a limb—like some enormously important part of him was missing.

Lighting another clove—his third since she'd left—he propped himself in the windowsill, ignoring the way the dim, early morning sunlight made his pale skin prickle rather painfully; his eyes swept around the grounds—longing for the sight of her tall, graceful form headed in his direction. His thoughts were troubled, muddled and confused—but it wasn't because of Spirit. No… this time it was due to feelings he couldn't explain or understand—ones that left him adrift and hopeless, now that he was alone. If he was smart, he'd walk away—he'd return to his suite and avoid Belikov's little sister like the plague, sparing them both the inevitable heartache that was bound to rear its head.

_But he wasn't smart—not when it came to romance. That… was the entire problem._

The silence was suddenly broken by someone pounding on the door; it startled him—so much that he lost his balance and almost tumbled out the window. Muttering a hushed curse, he flicked his half smoked cigarette out, watching it's sparks scatter as it spiraled down to the ground. He was stalling—he knew it; there was only one person that could be banging on Viktoria's door—and to put it bluntly, he didn't relish the thought of his perfectly straight nose being smashed to a pulp by her meathead brother's fist.

The knocking didn't ease up.

_Shit._

He crept into the living room, glaring at the door— mentally cursing Olena Belikov for ratting out their ruse. All she had to do was keep her mouth shut—

"I can hear you breathing. Open the door, kotik… unless, perhaps, you are scared of a helpless old woman?"

"Helpless my ass," he muttered, ashamed at the rush of relief he felt—the giant was still in the dark and hadn't come to dismember him. Jerking open the door, he flashed the old woman his treademark hundred watt smile. "You're granddaughter—"

"Isn't here," she cut him off, pushing past him. "I know this—I came to see you. Can you play canasta?"

He shot her a confused look. "Uh… no—sorry, I'm not a musician."

"Not castanets, kotik—_canasta._ The card game." She rooted around in her oversized purse, producing a worn looking deck of cards; moving over to the table, she sat down, uninvited—giving him a pointed look. "Fine then—poker? Gin rummy?"

"Poker I can do—though I better warn you, I'm hard to beat."

She scoffed as she shuffled the cards. "We shall see. Now… what shall we play for?"

He frowned, walking back into the bedroom to grab the small bowl he'd been using as an ashtray, calling back to her over his shoulder, "What did you have in mind?"

She shrugged as he reappeared, her dark eyes locking with his. "Since my sources tell me you are a bit short on cash… pennies will do just fine. I would hate to think I left my granddaughter's kotik without a pot to piss in."

He choked on a puff of smoke at the blunt statement, coughing so much his eyes watered. "Thanks… I guess. What does that mean, anyway?"

"You are a smart man—figure it out."

"Or you could just tell me—faster that way."

"Things that are easily obtained are not worth having. If you want to know what it means, learn Russian," she retorted dryly, dealing out the cards. "If you want to fit in with the family… to convince my Dimitri that your intentions are serious… it is something you need to do."

He didn't respond, though her words affected him deeply; he contemplated the idea, thinking about what he'd seen of the Belikovs in the short time he'd known them. They were overly affectionate, even with him—and he was practically a stranger; amongst themselves, the deep love they felt for each other was obvious, no matter how fiery the arguments might be—a big change from the deep freeze his parents summoned whenever they were displeased with his actions. His mother's embraces were cold and distant—nothing like the warm, nurturing hug Olena Belikov had engulfed him in before he'd left her room. He'd given the woman every reason to distrust him—lying about who he was and sneaking around with her daughter—but instead of writing him off the way so many people had done in the past… she'd whispered how _proud_ she was that he'd been _brave_ enough to come clean.

Did he want to fit in with the Belikov family?

_The answer was an unequivocal hell yes._

"Concentrate on the game, kotik—if I wanted to play cards by myself, I would have stayed in my room." The old woman's voice was filled with amusement, as if she could sense what was playing out in his head.

_Hell… maybe she could—he wouldn't put it past her. She might act like a frail old woman, but underneath the façade the old broad was made of solid steel._

"I am—don't rush me." He frowned, studying the cards, trying to remember what had been played—not an easy task when he hadn't been paying attention since he'd taken the cards in hand. She made a 'tsking' sound, reaching over and grabbing the cards out of his hand. "Hey!"

"We will do something that requires less concentration, yes? Either that or you can help me with my knitting."

His brow wrinkled with suspicion. "I do _not_ knit."

"I did not ask that, did I? You have two good hands that do not suffer from arthritis, and youthful eyes that still see clearly—so you can untangle my yarn." She produced a wad of yarn from her purse—hell it was more like a damned carpet bag—plopping it down in front of him with a gap toothed smile.

He eyed the messy bundle, grimacing. "Isn't it supposed to be in a ball?" He had a momentary flashback—his aunt, sitting in her favorite chair, with him curled up at her feet. She'd always been knitting something, though he never quite figured out what became of all the hats and scarves she made.

"It is."

He glanced up, waiting for her to continue; when she didn't, he sighed. "Well… why isn't it?"

"My great granddaughter got in my bag. She can be very destructive for such a small thing."

"Great granddaughter? Exactly how old are you , Ms. Belikova?"

"Older than the North Sea, child—now get to work. That yarn is not going to unsnarl itself." She scooped up the cards, shuffling them again, then laying them out in front of her—apparently satisfied with playing solitaire while he worked.

He studied the mess in front of him, hunting for a loose end—slowly beginning the Herculean task of unfurling all the knots. Oddly enough, the longer he worked at it, the more focused and clear headed he became—it was almost… soothing… being able to lose himself in the job she'd given him.

Glancing over at her, there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. "This is a lesson or something, right?"

"Maybe… maybe not." She did not look up from her card game. "Perhaps I am simply too lazy to do it myself—" she glanced up, her brown eyes so deep and bottomless he thought he might drown in them, "or maybe I wanted to see if you could find peace within the puzzle of the knots offered your mind. You ask me if it is a lesson.. I say that you should answer that for yourself. A lesson is supposed to impart knowledge, boy. Have you had a sudden revelation about the activity I've given you? Has untangling the yarn helped you untangle what it is that is bothering you?"

" She's mad at me," he mumbled, staring down at the yarn. "About things I can't change. I… I'm afraid she might end up hating me over it."

"This is what troubles you? I thought perhaps it was something far more serious than my Vika's mercurial moods. Tell me… why do you say this… that she is mad at you? Did she scream at you? Strike you? Demand you go away never to return?" Her voice was soft, the heavy lull of her accent sounding almost musical in the hushed stillness of the room.

"She left—she couldn't even stand to be around me."

"That has nothing to do with you, child—she inherits it from me. When my granddaughter gets upset… she feels the need to wander. To be outside… moving around… it helps her think. It is in our blood, you see—the need to be at one with nature—though she does not realize it." She made a face at the cards she held, returning them to the pile. "When I was a little girl, my family was nomadic. We moved from place to place wherever the wind moved us. I still feel it calling me at times… inviting me to explore—but I am old now. My Vika… she is young."

His brow wrinkled; it was slowly becoming obvious that Viktoria's grandmother was often as vague and hard to decipher as a fortune cookie. "So… she's _not_ mad?"

"At the situation perhaps—not at you. You cannot help the things that happened in the past—what matters are the choices you make now, kotik. You will not lose my granddaughter over what happened with Roza… but if you do not change your attitude towards her brother…." Her voice trailed off, her eyebrows raising, "it is a very real possibility. She holds him up on a pedestal—in her eyes, in many ways he is the perfect man. He is her savior… he is the one who stopped their father from beating her to death. Knowing that you dislike him… it must weigh heavily on her soul."

He frowned, grabbing another cigarette; she watched him for a moment, then reached over, snagging his makeshift ashtray—plucking out the butts and setting them to the side. "What are you—"

"Wait and see." Shifting the ashes in the bowl, then upended it, spilling the contents out over the polished wood; her face scrunched up as she studied them intently. "The sight has many facets… the visions are only one aspect of my gift. Divination is another. There is more than one reason the people in my village consider me a _charodeyk_."

"What's a… that thing you said?" He grimaced, bracing himself for another quip about learning Russian. "You know, if you spoke Romanian I wouldn't have to ask all the time."

The corner of her mouth twisted up in a sly grin. "I do speak Romanian—does that surprise you, Lord Ivashkov? In the language of your ancestors… the word is _vrăjitoare_."

His eyes widened. She certainly looked the part of a sorceress, if one believed in such things. "So you're saying you're a witch?"

She shrugged, still studying the ashes she'd decorated the table with. "It is a label, nothing more... nothing less. I have visions... I tell the future. From time to time I make a concoction to heal a sickness or help a woman conceive. All different faces of the gift, in one form or another, boy, passed down to me from my ancestors."

His fang slid over his lip, rubbing against the tender flesh. "Could you make something to help someone… let go of the past?"

"I could… but I will not. That is something you must do on your own, kotik." She glanced up at him, frowning. "You will stray from the path you are on in the future—it will cost you a great deal of happiness along the way, but if you find your way back to _your _ path… the one you are meant for, you will be repaid threefold in the end."

He stared at her, having an extremely hard time keeping a straight face. "You're telling my future… by reading cigarette ashes?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You would prefer I read tea leaves? By all means, go brew a cup for me. I will wait. If not, then do not question me when I work with what I have. It is not the material that matters, it is what the angels chose for me to see in them that counts."

"Sorry… I didn't mean—"

She winced, her eyes slightly glazing as she stared at the space around him; an expression of pain flicked across her face—her hand moved up, pressing against her temple. "So much heartache… neither of you deserve it… you are good, caring children."

"What do you see?" Despite his instant reaction to her using the ashes, he couldn't help but feel a prickle of unease.

"Hush—let me concentrate." Her hand shot out, clasping tightly around his as she closed her eyes, grimacing.

He watched her eyes flicker from side to side behind the lids as she hissed, muttering something in Russian under her breath; he couldn't translate, but it sounded ominous enough to make chills dance along his spine. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she released him and sat back., pressing the heels of her palms against her forehead—her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath. He reached out, prepared to heal her, but she opened her eyes, shaking her head.

"Do not touch me—not yet. I am still not myself, kotik. Part of me is still there… in the land of vision."

"The land of… vision?"

"The place where the images play out—I am still seeing things. Different things… flickering through my mind. The path I see… it keeps shifting. Different outcomes battle for dominance. That is not always the case—usually there is only one, firmly fixed in place. Those are the ones that cannot be avoided—to attempt and change them is to challenge destiny."

"Is mine… changeable?" He asked, his voice thick with worry.

"I do not know, son—experience tells me I should hold my tongue and let things play out as they must… but my heart… my heart tells me something else entirely. I see all these paths… and I see their outcomes. Do I attempt to steer you down a shorter path to the goal you are meant to achieve—which could risk you losing it altogether... or do I allow you to take the longer route and learn important, painful lessons along the way? If I do either thing… I sense that it might cost us both something irreplaceable." Her gaze locked with his—in that moment, she looked haggard, as if the weight of the world rested on her thin, frail shoulders.

"I—"

"Vasilisa Dragomir has already begun to lose herself, boy. The darkness had planted its seed in her mind and it has taken root. Do not let her into your head—you must always avoid her gaze. If you don't… you will lose everything you have gained…. everything you value—and you might not ever reclaim it." She stood abruptly, reaching over and grabbing the yarn he'd so carefully unfurled, shoving it back into her purse. "That is all I can say, and even that sparse bit is to much. I must go now, and pray. I must ask my guide to forgive me for giving you this warning."

"But… what does it even _mean_? Lissa would never—"

"Without meaning to, she will ensnare you—and when she does… she will not be able to control what havoc she wreaks. You will lose something more precious than all the gold in the Royal Moroi vaults..." She paused, an expression of agony flittering across her face. Slowly, almost as if she was fighting against the movement, her hand stretched out, hovering next to his cheek. "You will forgive me… they say I must show you, kotik… I must show you what the risk will be if we lose you even for a moment. If we do… something terrible will happen, no matter which path you chose."

Her hand closed the distance, gently caressing his cheek; the moment her skin touched his, a faint pop of static electricity shivered against his skin. "When I am gone… they will show you, child—and I fear they will seek to undo the warning I have shared. Whatever you do, try to hang on to it—when the vision fades from existence in your mind, do not let it steal away my words of caution."

He stared at her in shock; never before had someone spoken so plainly about the images he often saw—half remembered things that plagued his dreams. "You… know about that?"

"I do… the same thing happened to my Anton and to me as well—I used to forget the things I saw when I was young, only to have them torment me in my sleep. As you grow older… they cannot be erased, no matter how hard you try to forget them. I sometimes do not know which is worse, remembering or forgetting." She removed her hand, dark eyes full of sorrow as she leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek. "You are a good, brave boy, Adrian Ivashkov. I will most heartily welcome you to my family when you are ready to join us."

He sat in stunned silence, green eyes wide as he watched her move to the door without stopping to look back. Long after she'd disappeared, he remained frozen, playing over everything she'd said in his mind. Only his hand moved, restlessly twitching on the table—had he been paying attention, he might have noticed the warning sign and immediately braced himself for what was coming. Unexpectedly, his head jerked to the side—a slight, barely discernible movement, almost like a tremor. It happened again a moment later—and then again, but this time, his head stayed tilted to the side. Without warning, Spirit roared through him, sweeping him up and carrying him away, ensnaring him in vision and showing him things that made it hard to breathe.

_The gleam of a streetlight on a wickedly curved blade as it stabbed into tender flesh, yanking sideways violently before being withdrawn. Blood… so much blood… and ocean of it, gushing out like a geyser—painting everything around him claret. The body was practically disemboweled, bleeding out on the dark, dirty street as a familiar male voice shouted out a name—the only name in the world than mattered. He gazed down at the body in horror. It was her name… her body._

_Viktoria… his angel._

He gasped, jerking out of the vision, his hands white knuckled as he grasped the edge of the table in an attempt to stay upright.

_Was that what the old lady had seen? Viktoria's death?_

A sound escaped him—one unlike any he'd ever made. A primal cry of rage at what he had seen. He stood—too fast—his body wasn't ready; knees buckled, toppling him to the floor. He lay there his entire body trembling violently at the horrific image of her eyes glazing over as she stared up at the sky. It couldn't happen—he wouldn't let it. Fate be damned.

_He would save her._

Unbidden tears leaked out of his eyes as the images shifted, dimming in his mind. Slowly, they ebbed away, fading back—receding to merge with the countless other glimpses of things that his element often pulled into his head. Ten heartbeats later, he was struggling to remember what the old woman had seen in his cigarette ashes; Thirty more passed and he was looking around, wondering what in the hell he was doing sprawled out on the floor. He chalked the episode up to the dark side of his element, slowly getting to his feet on legs that were still shaking.

_Lissa's not the only one losing her fucking mind._

He froze, wondering where the idea had come from. Lissa was fine—she had everything under control. He was the one who was screwed six ways to Sunday, plagued by episodes that were getting stronger with every day that passed.

Moving to the kitchen, he frantically searched the cabinets, _finally_ finding a bottle of wine at the very back of the top shelf. His hand shook as he opened it—miniscule pieces of cork breaking off and crumbling down into the liquid inside. He didn't care—upending the bottle, he drank almost half of it down before he slowed to take a breath.

_Wine connoisseurs are full of crap—no matter the vintage or exorbitant price tag, it all tasted pretty much the same. Like shit._

He eyed the bottle, making a face as he smacked his lips—disgusted by the bitter aftertaste that coated his tongue. It wasn't enough to stop him from polishing off the bottle—but as soon as he was finished he made a beeline to the bathroom to borrow Viktoria's toothbrush, erasing the acidic aftertaste as best he could.

He paced the apartment, from one room to the next—wishing the old woman had left the cards or even the tangled ball of yarn to occupy him. His nerves were drawn as taut as bowstrings, his mind racing from subject to subject. He was supposed to remember something… to do something… but what? It was right there… at the edge of his consciousness, dancing just out of reach—bothering him like a fly buzzing about his head. Vika… should he go look for her? No… just she'd get pissed.

_Abe. I'll call Abe. He can find her._

He did, then returned to pacing, fretting over whatever it was he'd lost inside his head. It had been a puzzle of some sort, or maybe a riddle. Something cryptic Yeva Belikova had said when she grabbed up the yarn—

_If she'd left the yarn I could be unraveling it right now… lost in the knots—_

That was it… he needed something to focus on, to escape the troubling thoughts bouncing around in his head.

He retreated to his bag, pulling out a sketch pad and a monogramed wooden pencil case—collapsing on the couch to unwind in the only way he knew that didn't require alcohol or more illicit substances. Selecting a graphite pencil, he began lightly scratching the stick across the page at random, letting his mind wander as his creativity took the reins. Slowly, the lines took shape—the circles and squiggles became a back drop of flowers, the rectangles a bench. The oval became a face—the pencil moved faster; he bit his lip—something wasn't quite right. His kneaded eraser rubbed against the page—sixteen strokes later, her feet were tucked away beneath the bench, hidden from his view and another shape had slowly begun to form beside her.

The sound of the pencil scratching across the page soothed him the way the yarn had; it helped him make order out of the chaos in his mind. He didn't find the answer he was seeking, but his heart had stopped racing as he lost himself in the images he created, drawing out a scene that he wished he could see played out in real life. It wasn't the mindless rush of inspired creation often brought about by Spirit—rather, it was him slowly unwinding and relaxing from the sway his element had exerted against his will by drawing what he felt inside his heart.

_In a manner of speaking._

Thirty minutes later, it was almost finished—Viktoria was sitting in the garden, but it wasn't him at her side; the pencil strokes he'd made were light and ethereal, giving the illusion of transparency to his aunt's ghostly form as she smiled at the dhampir girl fondly—far more tolerant in death than she'd ever been in life. It was the smile he'd longed for her to favor Rose with back when they were an item; Tatiana had never softened towards his little dhampir—despite her attempts at civility, her dislike was plain to see—but somehow, he just knew that wouldn't have been the case with his angel. She was everything Rose was not—sweet and kind, an old fashioned girl… the kind who would never stray.

_You would have liked her Aunt Tati…I know it. I wish you could have met her._

Another knock startled him, making his pencil jerk across the page; he froze for a moment, then smiled at the sound of a loud female voice proclaiming she didn't know what she'd done with her key. He dropped the sketchpad, hurrying over to the door as an overwhelming sense of relief flowed through him. She was back—Abe had brought his wandering angel home.

_I can breathe again—she's safe._

Unfortunately, the happiness he felt faded far too quickly; his smile faded the moment he jerked open the door—twisting into an outright scowl at the sight that awaited him. _His_ angel was cradled in the massive arms of Abe's goon of a bodyguard. "What the hell?"

"She's drunk—sweet little Vika can barely stand on her own two feet." Abe smirked, stepping aside with a flourish of his arm. "She's perfectly fine, though she'll probably have one hell of a hangover in the morning."

"Good thing I happen to be an expert in home remedies," he muttered, giving the male dhampir a less than friendly look. "Where was she?"

"Having a nice little chat with your Aunt's statue. I seem to recall hearing her say something about how she adored the birthmark on your neck—she was wondering if your aunt ever kissed you there when you were a little boy."

"Actually… she did. Tati always said it was the spot where the angels kissed me goodbye in the seconds before I was born." He reached out to take Viktoria, only the dhampir stepped back, out of reach.

"I can put her to bed."

The bodyguard's eyes were full of something he couldn't quite place—but whatever it was… he didn't like it one damn bit.. "Over my dead body—"

"Don't tempt me, kid," the man growled.

"Pavel. Enough—there's no need for a dominance display." The amusement in Abe's voice was barely contained.

The bodyguard's lip curved up in what could only be considered a snarl. "Ain't no display—she's a sweet girl. He hurts her… I'm gonna hurt _him_."

Vika giggled, poking Pavel's nose. "Sweet as candy—that's me!"

"Oh for Christ's sake—I'm not going to hurt her," he snapped, pulling her curvy body out of the man's arms and cradling her against his chest.

Long, toned arms slid around his neck, followed by her lips a moment later as they brushed against the mark on his skin. "Do I taste sweet, moy Dusha?"

A hot flush spread across his pale cheeks at Abe's snort of amusement. "I'm not answering that."

Her teeth grazed his skin. "Why not? You are always supposed to tell the truth—" The light, feathery kisses stopped—a second later, she sniffled.

"That's our cue to make a fast getaway—we've already dealt with the waterworks once tonight." The Moroi didn't stick around to explain the sarcastic comment; he turned abruptly, heading for the elevator—snapping his fingers at his employee when the man remained immobile. "Don't piss me off even more—I'm already at my limit, Pavel."

Shooting one final glowering look his way, the dhampir trailed after Abe like a well-trained dog—leaving him to handle Viktoria's mood swing all on his own. He kicked the door shut, glancing down at her—his gut clenching up at the sight of the silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Angel… what's wrong?"

She didn't answer; her face crumpled up as the tears sped up, filling her large brown eyes.

"Come on sweetheart," he crooned softly, carrying her towards the bedroom, "talk to me."

She closed her eyes, lower lip trembling.

He sighed, laying her down on the bed before scurrying to the bathroom to run a wash cloth under the tap—immediately returning to tenderly wipe her face.

"Stop it—just leave me alone." She scowled, pushing his hands away.

"I'm not leaving you like this," he said softly, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted in his chest. He'd been right—the old woman had been wrong. Telling his angel the truth had ruined everything—she hated him because of the fucked up situation with Rose.

"Do not pretend you care," she spat out, glaring up at him. "Why don't you go bother your precious fucking _Roza_—I know that is where you want to be right now."

"I want to be _here_… with _you._" He folded the rag, placing it across her forehead—it was one of the few caring gestures he remembered his mother doing whenever he'd felt ill as a child.

"I bet you would have told _her_ that she tasted sweet if she asked," Viktoria muttered darkly, pushing his hands away again as he tried to cover her with the sheet.

Despite himself, his lips twitched up—her jealousy pleased him. He retreated from her angry glare to grab a glass of water to put within easy reach of the bed, then pressed a kiss against her forehead, closing his eyes as he whispered, "Go to sleep Angel—we'll talk about it in the morning, okay?"

He didn't stretch out beside her—though he wanted to; if her mood switched to a more… _friendly_… one, he knew that he would be unable to resist the temptation to give in to her kisses and caresses. He couldn't allow himself to do it—not when she was drunk. Grabbing a pillow, he plopped down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling—listening to her mutter angrily in Russian under her breath. Slowly, her words faded; her breathing evened out and slowed as sleep claiming her. Only then did he allow himself to reach up, threading his fingers through her limp ones—taking solace in the comforting press of her palm against his. Touching her grounded him—it was a balm for his weary soul.

They were both broken, albeit in completely different ways. His scars were all internal ones, deep furrows embedded in his heart and ribboning though his mind—while most of hers were displayed in the pale, faint ridges that decorated her skin. They'd both been mistreated by people who claimed to love them—the million dollar question was… _together_… could they finally begin to heal those wounds?

Only time would tell, but deep inside… he thought he knew what the answer would be—in fact… he was pretty sure the healing had _already_ begun.

_He just wished he could figure out what the fuck it was that kept buzzing around, lost in the misty insides of his mind._

* * *

**_A/N This one is for Phaedra who asked requested Chapter 62 of the VA drabbles collection in Adrian's POV. Sorry it's taken me so long to get it up—hope it was worth the wait!_**

**_If anyone ever reads a chapter for one of my fics or a drabble that they'd like to see in another pov, just leave the request in the reviews or shoot me a message—I actually love doing 'opposite' side of the story chapters. It takes me a while to get to them, but I promise I eventually do get every requested item posted! ;o)_**


End file.
